Scheherazade
by Griever11
Summary: A collection of one-shots. Mostly Caskett. Strong T rating.
1. Day One

_I have a ton of one shots sitting around doing nothing on my desktop. This is where they will live. With a twist. Every chapter will be prompted by numbers, in ascending order, starting with one. Who knows when I'll stop – but I'm challenging myself to see how creative I can get while working with these numbers as they get bigger. But anyway. Here's to procrastination and not-studying-for-finals!_

**One**  
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Basking in the new light of daybreak, Kate Beckett stirred and stretched, grimacing as she felt the tinge of sore muscles send a dull throb of pain through her body. The pain was nothing new though, she usually ached the same way after most of her more physical and violent suspect takedowns but this time, the pain was coupled with an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction and … elation?

Yes. Elation. Happiness it its purest form.

Her mother could finally rest in peace. Justice avenged. Closure found. Her mother's murder solved.

The cover up had been blown wide open, the team's unrelenting efforts over the last two months finally paying off as they finally, _finally_ cornered the sonofabitch who had orchestrated the entire thing. After almost fifteen years of successfully evading capture and operating from within the confines of the same set of laws she had fought so hard to uphold, they finally had him.

The evidence against him was damning. They had proof that he had dipped his hands in almost every illegal activity known to man – extortion, drug trafficking, prostitution, murder, embezzlement. Real, solid, undeniable proof that would send the man to live the rest of his sorry life in prison, all because of the way Castle had –

Castle.

Kate turned onto her side and let out a small sigh of relief. Still there. He was still there. The covers had been pulled halfway down his torso, undoubtedly the result of the stifling heat they'd experienced in the night and she ran her fingers along his naked chest, revelling in the memory of looking up at it as he hovered over her, his breath washing over her as they moaned in unison, joined as intimately as two people could ever be joined.

She chewed on her bottom lip, suppressing the urge to wake him up for another round between the sheets. He needed his sleep. Recovery time and all that, both physically and sexually. The bruises that mottled his skin were fading, slowly but surely, more evidence of tough and merciless week they'd just been through. She traced contours of his face, brushing against the stubble that had grown overnight and she placed a chaste kiss on his shoulder. He was there. Right there with her.

When they'd stumbled into her apartment the night before after a few hours celebrating at the Old Haunt, she had intended to just crawl into bed and sleep for the next two weeks. Running on mostly caffeine and catnaps at the precinct, she had figured she was entitled to that at the very least. She didn't know or care what Castle was going to do with himself after she went to bed, but before she could even ask, he'd claimed her lips with his own.

Her plan to sleep till forever got pushed back by a good three hours.

He was so very skilled and all thoughts of slumber were chased out of her head the instant his lips met her skin, divesting her of all her worries and concerns that they (God forbid) weren't compatible in bed.

"You're right. It's creepy."

Oh, she hadn't even realised that he had woken up. "I'm always right. You should know that by now."

"Except for the all the times you're wrong."

The sleepy grin that he was sharing with her sent pleasant tingles through her already semi-aroused state and she inched closer to him.

"I'm hardly ever wrong, Mister Castle," she teased. Her voice was hoarse, laced with satisfaction and joy. Yeah, she really was just plain happy.

"You were wrong when you said I couldn't make you get to your fourth org – oh hey!"

She didn't allow him to finish, instead she pushed him onto his back and draped herself over him, every inch of her naked skin meeting his. "'Kay. I was wrong then."

His arms circled her, pressing her deliciously against his body and she snuggled into him. She couldn't help but remember the first time he held her like that, his arms crushing her to him, his scent engulfing her – the time at the hanger. That fateful night when he had carried her bodily away from Montgomery. Dark. Dark times.

"Things are better now," he whispered into her hair. "He would have been proud of you."

If she wasn't already so used to the way he was almost always in sync with her, she would have been really freaked out at the way he could read her mind. But she was, and it was one of the many things she'd grown to love about him. She nodded. "Yeah. He would've been proud of you too, y'know."

She heard him sigh and she lifted her head so that she could see him. His eyes were crinkled in mirth and joy that had been missing since they'd started really working on her mother's murder almost two months ago. She leaned up and kissed him. Soundly.

Her tongue traced his lips, insistent but gentle, allowing him to dictate how fast they were going to move that morning. She felt him grin into their kiss and she nipped at his bottom lip. His hands travelled across the span of her bare back, resting on her shoulder blades as they moved together, lips ghosting against one another.

"You know what today is?" She asked after a moment, pulling slightly away from him. She watched as his facial features changed with his thought process – confusion, more confusion, unashamed happiness.

"Is it the day Kate Beckett spends hours in bed with her favourite ruggedly handsome, slightly banged up author?"

"No. But I'm open to that idea."

"Oh, right. Awesome. So what day is it really then?"

She sat up, her hands falling to her sides as her thighs tightened around his hips. "Today," she whispered as her fingers walked up the side of his body. Castle gasped from beneath her, his arousal evident as she shifted on him. She tweaked his nipples, gently tugging at them playfully before she met his eyes and leaned back down to kiss him quickly.

"Today is Day One."

"… Okay?"

"Day _One_, Rick. Day One of the rest of our lives."

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_Now who can tell me why I named this collection of one-shots '__Scheherazade__'?_


	2. Second Choice

_This was originally going to be part of 'Wrong' until that story decided to be a nice little angst fest. So it lay forgotten in my fic folder until today, and lo and behold, another one shot is born! Fic takes place in season three, but disregard 'Knockout' and all of Season 4. _

**Second Choice**  
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The moment Richard Castle met Lanie Parish, he knew she was a force to be reckoned with. He remembered her steely gaze, her eyes narrowing _just_ that much, taking him in as if she was deciding whether he was good enough to be following her best friend around. Of course, he hadn't known at the time that the two were best friends, but nevertheless, he'd caught the 'don't you dare mess with my girl' vibe from her and experience told him that if there was a code that one shouldn't mess with – besides the mafia code, of course – it was the girl code.

Her sass and wit drew him in and he was intrigued by her. Not as intrigued as he was with Beckett, but still curious enough about the relatively young medical examiner, the woman who was never afraid to speak her mind, who called him out on his ridiculous theories, who chastised him appropriately for being immature – and the one person who Beckett seemed to be able to confide in and open up to.

Castle will readily admit that he was slightly jealous of Lanie just for that last reason.

So when he got the very cryptic text from her one evening after a long day of meeting with his agents, he jumped at the opportunity. He didn't get that many chances to talk to Lanie alone – Beckett was usually around and more often than not, there always was a dead body that warranted their full attention.

He made the trip in record time and entered the morgue feeling more than slightly excited. Who knew what she had in store for him that evening? A funky looking dead body that Beckett would totally disapprove being shown to him? An update on the department wide 'How many times can Beckett chase a suspect in heels and not fall' pool? The possibilities were endless.

The sight before him as he entered the cold room had him floored.

"What- you … you look nice tonight," he managed, his eyes taking in the sleek dark blue dress the doctor had on. The material was flowy - silk? Satin? He'd have to ask her later so that he could get the same kind for Beckett at some point. He knew she'd look good in it. Allowing his gaze to move upwards, taking in the perfectly curled hair, he flashed her a grin.

"Date night?"

Lanie rolled her eyes, but nodded anyway. "Yes, and the reason why you are here is that I need you to be a loyal girlfriend while I go on my date night," she said as she switched her purse from one hand to the other. Clearly, she was getting agitated. Late, probably. And Esposito would probably be waiting for her – wait, hang on.

"Girlfriend?" Castle furrowed his eyebrows. "Wha-"

"It's Kate. She needs someone right now, and that someone is _usually_ me, but Javier," she cringed as she noticed Castle's smirk at her use of his first name. "Javier's made reservations at some swanky place tonight an' I ain't gonna be able to get out of it. So that responsibility now falls on you."

"… to be a loyal girlfriend?" Castle repeated slowly, trying to wrap his head around the idea. The woman was infuriatingly confusing tonight.

"Exactly."

"But … _girlfriend_? Why can't I just be a friend? Because I _am_, you know, her _friend_," he insisted, even as Lanie waved a hand dismissively in front of his face.

"'Cause right now, that's who Kate needs. And you and I both know you're metro enough to pass off as one of us so I've decided that you'll do fine. Just … tell her how boys are stupid or something. Do not, I repeat, do _not_ ask her about Josh."

"Wait, Josh?" Oh, puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place.

"Oh my God, you really are blind when it comes to Kate aren't you? They broke up last night. Usually we make a girls night out of breakups but we can't tonight, so _you_ have to do it.

"I haven't been at the precinct today, I didn't – Lanie, I don't know…"

Castle shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily. When it came to Beckett and her love life, he would never, ever be comfortable with it. Came with the territory, he supposed. The territory of a man who was so helplessly in love with her and didn't have the guts to do anything about it. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck in contemplation as Lanie's stare got even more intimidating.

"Are you her friend?"

"Yes."

"Do you care about her?"

"You know I do."

"Do you want her to wallow in sadness and self-pity all by herself tonight?"

"No, of course not."

"So, Richard Castle, you go over there, bring ice cream and _lots_ of it, some cookie dough, some fruits and you make yourself the most perfect boy-hatin' girlfriend Kate's ever known, you hear me?"

00000

The door inched open and he spotted a sliver of her face through the gap, partially obscured by the security chain across the doorframe. He cleared his throat.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Okay, yeah. I can't accept that answer because I had to get ice cream, and then drive here and walk all the way up because for some reason your elevator isn't working – and it's melting. And no one likes melted ice-cream so you have to let me in so we can eat it before it becomes … flavoured milk."

She shut the door in his face without another word, but before he can shift his load around to knock again, he heard the faint scrape of metal against metal and he realised that she was sliding the chain off the hook. Sure enough, two seconds later the door reopened, sans metal chain and this time she stepped back with an exaggerated eye roll to let him in.

He tossed her a grin as he walked past her and made a beeline to her kitchen. "I got us vanilla, because I wanted to have complete freedom with toppings. I mean, I got chocolate syrup and sprinkles, marshmallows, cookie dough –

"Castle."

"– strawberries, blueberries, some wafer sticks –

"Castle!"

"What?"

"Who told you?"

Right. Lanie didn't say, but she probably wouldn't want Beckett finding out that she'd told on her. That was part of the girl code, wasn't it? The female version of 'bros over hos'.

"…um, no one. No one told me anything. I'm … uh, just here. For fun," he answered weakly, knowing that the moment the words parted from his lips, she'd know he was lying. Poor attempt Rick, try harder next time.

"Lanie has such a big mouth."

Yup. Point proven. And if Beckett's expression was anything to go by, she wasn't happy with that particular revelation. It was then he actually turned to fully face her, taking her in for the first time that night without the door or his load of groceries obstructing his view.

Oversized T-shirt, leggings, socks. Déjà vu. Only last time, her hair was up, and they had a serial killer on the loose. Clearly she hadn't been expecting company; her cheeks were damp, her eyes slightly red-rimmed and puffy, and her hair falling in a mess of unruly curls around her head. Either she'd been crying, or she'd been really, really upset.

The realisation hit him like a ton of rocks and his heart ached for her. He hated seeing her upset.

"Lanie's only looking out for you," he said gently, picking out two extra-large tubs of vanilla ice cream and setting them on the table between them. He started unloading the rest of the toppings, but paused as she sniffled.

"I don't need looking after," she muttered, settling herself in a chair opposite from where he was standing. She pulled her feet up and rested her chin on her knees, her hands coming around her legs to hold them close to her body. She leaned back into the backrest of the chair and breathed out steadily.

He eyed her critically, unsure of what to say. She wasn't really looking at him and he suspected that he wasn't expected to answer her anyway. She was staring into the distance expressionless, and he was reminded of the time when Alexis had broken up with Owen.

Yeah, he had to fix this.

"Sure, you're big bad Beckett, all tough and independent. But you know what? Super heroes need ice cream too, and lots and lots of it," he said, leaning forwards so that his face was inches from hers. "C'mon, you know you want this. Think of all the combinations we can make with this stuff!"

His hands gestured across the table where he'd laid out the toppings. Jars and squeeze bottles and little packets of nothing but sugary (and mostly chocolate-y) goodness.

"Oh hey, a smile!"

And indeed, a small smile graced her otherwise solemn features. "Oh, you know me and sugar, Castle – sweet tooth just as bad as yours," she mumbled, picking up the packet of marshmallows and ripping the top off. "Now give me that tub."

"... the entire tub?"

She shot him an annoyed look. "Did I stutter?"

"No. It's just – that's … a lot of ice cream. For one person. But you know what, here. Tonight, I do as you say, and you want … lots of ice cream. Man, Lanie wasn't kidding."

He walked around the table and passed her the tub as he sank into the chair next to her. She pried open the tub and squeezed a generous amount of chocolate sauce into it, garnishing it with the marshmallows she'd opened up earlier. He watched her for a few moments, captivated.

"So, what do I do now?"

"Wha-?" She spoke around the spoon that was sticking out of her mouth and Castle swore that he'd never seen anything cuter.

"When you … wallow. Lanie said you need girlfriends for that, and this is the first time I'm being anyone's girlfriend – wow, that sounded horribly kinky – but I digress. So what do I do now?"

Beckett peered at him curiously, another spoonful of ice cream on the way to her mouth, this time adorned with chocolate chips. "So … she _sent_ you? Like… as a backup plan? The second choice?"

For a moment, Castle thought of denying it. Make her think he stopped by out of the goodness of his heart and the pure gentlemanliness of his nature. Yeah, he brushed that thought away just as quickly as it had appeared. No need for more lies, especially since his entire gender probably wasn't doing too well on the list of things Beckett liked right now anyway.

"Hey, I could be the best second choice you'll ever have," he teased, snagging her full spoon and bringing it to his own mouth. She slapped his shoulder in irritation, but said nothing as she pulled the spoon out from between his lips and started digging for more for herself.

A stray thought crossed his mind and the child in him realised that he'd just kissed Beckett. Eating from the same tub, sharing the same spoon. They might as well just have sex already. He chuckled at his own childishness and then schooled his features. No, no nine year old tonight. Adult Rick was what the doctor ordered and that's who he'll be tonight.

"We don't talk about it," Beckett said suddenly. He cocked his head at her, his silence urging her to continue. "The reason why you're here, I mean. We don't bring it up unless I feel like it, we watch a movie, maybe tell a few childhood stories, make each other laugh. That's what girlfriends do."

"Right."

"And second choice or not, you gotta abide by those rules, okay?"

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

She grinned at him then, a full blown smile that had her eyes crinkling in mirth. She pushed the tub of ice-cream so that it sat in the middle of the both of them and offered her spoon to him.

"And we drown ourselves in ice cream until we're lying in the hospital in a sugar induced coma."

He laughed as she did and she scooted closer, her thigh barely brushing against his under the table.

"Thank you, Castle. For this. For everything," she said after a few minutes of companionable silence. Her voice was thick with emotion and for a second, all he wanted to do was pull her into a hug and cradle her till she felt okay again. But that wasn't the kind of relationship they had. As much as he hated it, their relationship was a very hands-off one so he did the only thing he knew for a fact he _could_ do.

"Need to tell you something, Beckett."

"Yeah?"

He leaned in towards her conspiratorially, widened his eyes as if he was preparing to tell her one of the world's greatest secrets and moved to whisper in her ear.

"Boys are _really_ stupid."

He made her laugh.

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_Thanks for all the amazing reviews, setting this on alert, leaving feedback over on my Tumblr – you're all amazing people.1001 chapters :P Yeah, I'll be happy if I even make it to 50. But it doesn't hurt to try, does it?_

_I've had requests to continue 'Day One' and to be honest, I'm open to the idea, so some time down the line, there may be a series of one shots that stem from that, if enough people go for it. Hope you guys liked this one too :)_


	3. Three's a Crowd

_Say hello to number three. This is a different style for me and I was really nervous about it (still am, tbh) but I sent this off to a special birdie over at tumblr for a read through and she claims it's not as bad as I thought it was. Thank you, you know who you are :) _

_A Caskett tale, told from the POV of a nice, hearing impaired, little old lady. _

**Three's a crowd**

Jeanne had spent the last twenty years running the small diner. It was her baby, inherited from her father, who had inherited it from _his_ father, Marcus Remy himself. Twenty odd years she'd kept the place running and she'd had the pleasure of basking in the success of her diner, busy at all times of the day regardless of the weather or the financial crisis or whatever else the universe seemed to throw at the world.

She took her usual seat, nestled in a corner of her diner – and she watched. People watching was her favourite pastime and at eleven at night, it was the most perfect time of day to just sit back, relax, and give her sixty year old bones a little rest. The dinner rush had long since been over, and only a few customers remained.

She loved this. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen, the smell of food, people, and the general atmosphere that she'd come to associate with home. But most of all, she loved her customers. Her regulars, the not so regular ones, the weird ones, the nice ones – they all lit a small burning flame in her heart and whenever a familiar face strode into Remy's, it never failed to put a smile on her face.

There were two of them in particular who really intrigued her. A man and a woman, regulars for two years now, on and off – mostly take out, but sometimes in the dead of the night, in the hours between dinner and Remy's late closing hours they chose to dine in. Always together (except for brief periods during the summers, she'd find out as the time went by), always bickering, and always looking so damned good doing it.

Maybe they'd show up tonight. It had been a while since she'd last seen them.

The first time they stepped in her cosy diner together, it looked as if they were on the tail end of a date night. Her hair was done up, if only a little messy, he looked elegant in his suit and his perfectly styled hair. She remembered them because they were stunning, really good looking people. She'd noticed them coming in individually before, the woman especially, but since that first time she saw them enter together, the individual visits had whittled down to almost none.

Of course, she wasn't counting the times _he_ would come in by himself to get the food to go, two burgers, two milkshakes, large fries – Jeanne knew they were going to have their meal together anyway, even if he'd come in alone.

When they did dine in, their conversations were usually held in hushed tones, barely making it over the din of the other patrons. Occasionally he'd make a noise, or she'd admonish him rather loudly – it sounded like she called him 'asshole' frequently, almost as though it was his name, though the guy didn't seem to mind at all. She was fairly sure the woman went by the name of 'Kate' but he didn't call her that – not when they were there anyway. _Racket_ – or something similar, was his moniker for her and Jeanne couldn't fathom why he'd call her that, but she had had her fair share of weirdos in her time, so she wasn't going to ponder.

She didn't know who they really were, only that they obviously worked in the city – odd hours, hard jobs, if their usual exhausted faces were anything to go buy. The man tipped well (very well) and the woman always had a smile for her staff. Burgers and shakes, that's how she referred to them in her head, because that's who they were to her. Mostly. Other times they were fries, steak and shakes. Occasionally they had ice cream, usually his idea – or a chocolate cake (her idea), but they always had their milkshakes.

When summer rolled approached, the first one since they first started frequenting her diner, their visits ceased. At first Jeanne thought maybe they'd gone on a vacation – hey, she was old and had nothing else to do with her time, she was allowed to theorise about her customers – but she'd been wrong. Two weeks into the summer, Kate walked in, alone – none of her usual cheerfulness about her.

That day she ordered a single milkshake and one burger. To go.

Jeanne didn't see her again for another three months and she assumed the worst. The pretty couple had parted ways and as the way these things go, her diner now bore too many memories for either one to come back. She remembered feeling sorry, if only because she hadn't managed to get more of a story out of them.

A few months later, she realised she had been mistaken. When fall came around, they were back and Jeanne was once again content to just watch them, enjoying their re-emergence in her life, together with the first of the brown leaves carpeting her entrance and the pleasant crunch of said leaves against the heavy footfalls as people walked in and out of her diner. It was subtle, but she could tell that something had changed between them during the summer. It was almost as if they were shy and tentative around one another. Maybe they were starting fresh, rewind, restart – or whatever it was that kids these days called it. But when it came down to it, they were still the same people they were before. Two burgers, two milkshakes, large fries. Table in the corner.

To her dismay despite their eventual return, their burger stops became more infrequent, less dining in together, more take out. Jeanne was even willing to swear on her dead Nonna's grave that one afternoon, she'd spotted Kate walking past the door of her diner, arms linked with a man who _wasn't_ 'asshole', gazing inside longingly before she was dragged away to the salad bar on the other side of the road. As silly as it sounded, she missed them. They didn't know who she was, and she didn't know who they really were, but she really did miss them. In any case, she wasn't going to complain. At least they were back.

She noticed their disappearance once more when summer crept up again. This time though, it was 'asshole' who walked in for the single order. It was the middle of the season, in the midst of the blistering heat and he looked horrible. The bags under the man's eyes told of sleepless nights and if his hollowed out cheeks were an indication, he wasn't eating well either. Jeanne was tempted to ask him if he was doing okay – but he'd seemed so despondent that she had just left him alone. Her curiosity really peaked when he came back a second time that week with an older man – Dean? Gene? Yes, her hearing wasn't quite what it used to be.

She remembered this one occasion clearly because at the time, she thought it was funny that this older man called him 'asshole' too. She overheard snippets of their conversation as she set their food on the table, smiling at the younger man. They talked about Kate, meaning that she was around. Just, not _around_. That day, she served them their coffees on the house (turns out milkshakes were more of a Kate and 'asshole' thing). They looked like they needed it. The men smiled at her appreciatively and that evening, the tip she received was the biggest one he'd ever left. That was almost half a year ago and besides the occasional stop once every few weeks, she barely saw her favourite couple anymore.

"S'cuse me."

Slurred words – oh how she hated them. Annoyed that she'd been interrupted from her walk down memory lane, she turned to her side where the voice had originated from, expecting to encounter some drunk bimbette looking for a phone to call a cab. However, the person she actually came face to face with was the furthest from being a bimbette as one could get.

It was Kate. _The_ Kate.

"You've watched's – f'so long, right?"

Jeanne had been around her fair share of drunken speeches to understand what the young woman was asking, but she could only nod dumbly at her. Yes, she had actually watched them for a really long time. No point in denying that. Kate had moved from her spot next to her to slide into the chair across the table.

"You watch us, I see it. All th'time. You know us, me, 'stle and I. "

The younger woman was really drunk, but still – Jeanne felt a blush rising to her cheeks as if the beautiful, gorgeous woman in front of her could tell that she'd just spent the last half an hour day-dreaming about her relationship with 'asshole'.

"So y'can tell me," Kate drawled out again, surprisingly maintaining eye contact despite her obvious inebriation. "Does Castle love me?"

"Hun, places of residence can't love people," Jeanne said gently. "Is there anyone I can call for you so you can get home safely, dear?"

Kate stared at her, her eyes blinking as her hair fell in waves around her shoulders. "Castle."

Jeanne nodded slowly. "Okay, your home – this castle that you live in, what's the address?"

"You don' geddit."

Jeanne sucked in a deep breath. Gorgeous or not, dealing with drunk Kate was slightly frustrating.

"I _love_ him. But he hid my mo-mother from me. And there's this big scr-screen, y'know? S'got my face, and mother's face and a whole lotsa other faces, y'know? And he's said – he s-says, he loves me. But he's breakin' my heart."

Oh. The poor girl. Jeanne wasn't able to make any sense of what she was mumbling about, but clearly it was about a guy. She got up and silently grabbed a glass from behind the counter and filled it up with water, placing on the table. She settled back into her seat and leaned forwards, pushing the glass closer to Kate.

"Drink up, alright? Then you tell me everything from the start. Do want to have anything to eat, honey?"

Green eyes, wide and innocent, staring at her.

"Castle buys me burgers n'shake," she whispered.

OH. Oh!

_Asshole_. Castle.

OH.

If Jeanne hadn't been too busy worrying about Kate, she'd probably have laughed out loud. All this time, she'd assumed 'asshole' was an affectionate nick name for the guy. Her hearing really _was_ deteriorating. _Castle_. The poor girl was in love with her Castle - her _asshole_. Sitting back down, a little shaken by the sudden revelation, she took Kate's hands, gently stroking them with her fingers.

"I _do_ watch you. Every time I get a chance to, and honey, there is no man who loves you more than your Castle. Okay?"

"'Kay," Kate said, still staring at her with her big green eyes. "So can you tell him?"

"Tell him what, honey?"

"Tell him … tha' he loves me. Tha-That I love'im. So, so much. Make'im stop hurting me, please?"

The bell by her door chimed and reluctantly, Jeanne turned to the person who had just walked in, silently regretting not having turned her sign to 'Close' before. But taking in the dishevelled suit, the tousled hair and the frantic look on his face, Jeanne was glad she hadn't.

She got up and gestured to the man who'd just walked in. Turning back to Kate, she bent down and whispered in the woman's ears.

"Listen Kate, dear. Everything you just said to me, you need to say it again, okay?" She said softly. "Cause your Castle is here, and the poor boy looks like he's just lost his soul."

She straightened up and met the man's eyes – blue, strikingly blue. "She's all yours now, Mr. Castle, although be warned, the poor girl is a _little_ drunk."

"She was never mine, Jeanne," he said. "But I think I've lost her anyway."

Her heart fluttered as he spoke her name, her appreciation for the man increasing tenfold. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything in the world for them to work out. The expression on their faces both matched – heartbreak and pain, eyes red-rimmed, as though all the fight had been driven out of them. Something big must have happened between the two.

"Why don't both of you sit and talk, and I'll get you your food, okay?"

He nodded stiffly and sat down opposite his love, gingerly placing his big hands over her tiny ones on the table.

Jeanne slinked into the back kitchen, yelling out an order to her chef before she got out the two plates that they'd need. She peered back out from the window towards her couple (because yes, they were 'her' couple now) and she chewed on the insides of her cheek. They weren't speaking, not a word, but their fingers were laced around each other's, her knees wedged between his under the table.

They were staring at each other, as if they had some weird non-verbal method of communicating that didn't involve actually speaking. Jeanne sighed. She had a feeling that they'd have to overcome a lot of issues before she would be able to see them get back to the way they were when they first set foot in her diner. And she was going to do everything she could to help them get there.

Starting with burgers, shakes and large fries.

00000

_Yeah I don't know about this one. Celebrated Oktoberfest at uni a few days ago, I'm going to blame this on the remnants of alcohol in my system :P _

_Also, a quick note – just in case there's confusion about it. 'Asshole', when I say it, sounds really similar to 'Castle'- hence the constant repetition of the word in the body of the fic. I thought it would be pretty easy to confuse the two words, with Jeanne's bad hearing and all, but it has been brought to my attention that not everyone says 'asshole' the same way I do – and so the confusion between the two words will not make sense. _

_I apologise for that. Just … I don't know, if you say the two words differently than I do, then pretend they sound the same anyway for the sake of the story? Artistic license and all that jazz? :P _


	4. Four Words

_First of all – a thousand thanks to TappinCastlefan for responding to my SOS on tumblr about needing someone to go through this story for me. You're a gem :D_

_This takes place after Season 1 – and goes AU from there. Season 2 – 4 never happened. _

**Four Words**

"We got the bastard, sir," was all his detective said before she set down the thick file on his desk and her ever loyal boys stepped in pulling a murder board with them.

And get the bastard, they did. The evidence against him was solid, witnesses had begun to pop up from the wood work and the determination in Beckett's eyes told the Captain that it was finally over. The hunt for the people who had ordered Johanna Beckett's death was finally over.

Captain Montgomery never asked how Beckett had managed it, but he knew that Richard Castle somehow had a hand to play in it. Granted, it had been almost two years since the guy had last been seen at the twelfth, but Beckett had requested the re-opening of Johanna's case the same day he received the letter from Castle's agent stating that the writer's ride-along days were over. Roy Montgomery did not believe in coincidences.

So he never asked, but he knew. After all, Castle was known for not being able to mind his own damned business. It had worried her team at first, her fierce determination and unrelenting drive. They all knew the last time it happened she barely made it back out from the rabbit hole and when she got back into it this time, they were all mindful of the fact that she could possibly go back down there.

But they had been wrong.

This time, she had been sensible about it. For two years the detective had worked tirelessly, splitting her time between the bodies that dropped almost daily and chasing up on her mother's murder. She went home at reasonable hours, kept all her work at the precinct, asked for help when she needed it and had managed to keep herself healthy. It was how the Captain knew that she'd make it. When he compared the images of a younger Beckett holed up in the archives ten years before to the one who stood before him that fine May afternoon, with a glint in her eye and her mouth set in a grim line – he knew she'd done it.

Occasionally, she would casually ask the boys if they'd heard from Castle, but their answer always remained a resolute 'no'. If she was bothered his absence, she never showed it. To the naked eye it seemed like she was just asking for the sake of conversation and no one suspected that anything was amiss.

At home though, Beckett ached for him. There wasn't single day that she didn't regret sending him packing. In the heat of the moment, drowning in betrayal and heartache, she'd yelled at him for poking his nose into her life, accused him of wanting nothing more than a juicy story for his character – and when she'd calmed down enough that day, she had told him to leave and never come back. She expected him to protest and argue with her about the merits of him being beside her while she solved the case, but to her surprise, she got nothing of the sort from him.

The files pertaining to the murder were on her desk the next morning, but the notepad that he'd kept in her top drawer was missing and his '_I'm not a cop'_ mug gone from the break room. In the space of a day, the twelfth was suddenly devoid of all things Castle.

He'd left her a few voice mails over the next few months, asking how she was doing, if she wanted an advanced copy of his book, if the precinct needed the Espresso machine serviced. He sent her a few emails, asking her opinion on cover art for his book. She had ignored them all. Deleted every voice mail, trashed every email and soon enough, he stopped trying to make contact with her altogether.

And she'd been fine with it for a while. He hadn't been around that long for his absence to really make an impact, but during the nights, after snuggling into her blanket, his smile taunted her. His scent, his jokes – the memories of building theory with him invaded her subconscious and she'd wake up feeling empty and hurt and all sorts of unfamiliar feelings she never knew she was capable of feeling. Especially for a man who had so thoroughly annoyed and irritated the hell out of her since the first time they met.

The ache lessened after six months. By the time she'd gotten the final piece of evidence she needed to nail the guy responsible for orchestrating the conspiracy that resulted in the death of Johanna Beckett, the pain had dulled into a steady throb that she knew she would never really recover from.

Rick Castle had helped her solve her mother's murder and she didn't even get to thank him for it.

00000

The sun was scorching against her back, the sweet tinge of summer warming her skin. Beckett shot her friend a smile, thankful for her advice that morning to put on a loose summer dress – the only one she owned – for their outing that day. A gentle breeze blew past them, taking away some of the heat, and she grasped Lanie's hand a little tighter, swinging their hands absent-mindedly between them.

It had been a while since they'd gone out together like that. Months had passed by without so much as a casual drink between the two friends because Beckett had been so caught up in the case that no one dared to even suggest the idea. The moment the judge ruled against the sick bastard, Beckett had found herself enveloped in one of the sweetest moments in her life – crushed in a group hug with Ryan, Esposito, Lanie, the Captain and her dad. Tears of joy were streaming down their faces and she finally felt the weight that had been her burden for a good ten years lifting. The only thing – one thing that she would never admit to in front of her friends and family that day – that she missed was him. His voice, his laughter, his steady presence beside her that had all but faded into mere memories.

Two years.

It had been two years since she'd last seen Rick Castle.

"Ooh, I think we need a little pick me up, don't you Kate?" Lanie said as she tugged them towards a cosy café, and Beckett followed willingly. She was never going to say no to coffee.

"Oh!"

Kate crashed into the back of her friend, not realising that Lanie had stopped walking abruptly in front of her. She started to grumble, but the words died in her mouth as she spotted the reason for Lanie's sudden lack of movement.

His eyes met hers over Lanie's head, crystal blue and just as clear as she remembered them being. He looked exactly the same as the day he'd walked out of her life, charming and debonair in his pressed suit and expensive looking shoes. She felt her heartbeat pick up speed and let go of Lanie's hand.

"Castle," she whispered. "Hey."

"Hey… Beckett, Doctor Parish," he greeted them. His eyes were still fixed on her as he moved towards them. Lanie was still standing shell shocked and Castle sidestepped her to come to stand in front of his former 'partner'.

"It's been a while, Detective. You look great," he said easily. Beckett wasn't fooled though. She could sense the heaviness in the air and the slight hesitation in his voice. "So... you did it."

She didn't have to ask what he was talking about – they both knew what he was referring to. The news had been all over the papers.

"Yeah. Yesterday, actually," she answered. "I – I tried calling … you."

By the way Lanie suddenly gasped for air and shook her head, that particular fact was evidently news to her. The medical examiner backed away slightly, leaving the two in their own space and she leaned against the wall of the building, intent on watching the reunion between them. Taking out her cell phone, she snapped a few quick pictures. Such juicy, juicy material she could share with the boys.

"I uh, had my number changed. Picked up a stalker or two in the last year or so," Castle said. His hand inched forward as if he was going to shake her hand, but then fell back to rest against his side. Beckett blinked. She never thought things would be so awkward between them.

"Congratulations, by the way. For … you know. The case. I knew you'd solve it, Beckett," his words were coated in sincerity … and, regret? He turned away and squinted against the sun before turning back to her.

"I have a book signing to get to. But, like I said, congratulations. And, uh. Sorry. For … everything. I'll see you around, Beckett. Lanie."

Before Beckett could say anything else, he'd crossed the sidewalk and once again she was faced with the view of his retreating back, disappearing out of her life.

"Girl …"

Beckett turned around to meet her companion's eyes, shining bright and eager. "Save it, LAnie."

"Nuh – uh. I'm not lettin' you let him go again," Lanie said. She inched forwards towards Beckett and shook her head. "Not letting you wallow in self-pity for a second time over that man."

"I never wallowed in self-pity Lanie!" Beckett protested, outraged. "_He_ walked away from me. Both times."

"Right. I seem to recall the first time was 'cause you told him to, and this time was 'cause you let him."

"I … " Beckett faltered. Lanie had a point. Damn.

"Go."

"What?"

"You have his book right? The one about you? Heat Wave? It's always in your bag, don't look at me like that – I _know_ you have it with you. All the time."

"So?"

"Dear God, woman. Go get it signed! Go, go!"

Suddenly she found herself being turned roughly around and shoved across the road, Lanie marching behind her and refusing to let go of her shoulders.

"And don't come back until you've talked to him, properly, you hear me?"

00000

Book signings were fun and Castle always loved them. Meeting his fans was an exciting experience; hearing their opinions about his book, how they've enjoyed it – how it changed their lives, it was the reason he kept doing what he was doing. And so when he saw the line that had accumulated at the front of the table, he flashed them all a charming grin.

"I would like to thank you all for coming, and I'm looking forward to meeting every single one of you today," he announced with a flourish before he settled himself into the comfortable chair. Pen at the ready, he glanced upwards toward the first person in line and began.

It was an hour and a half later, with the line significantly shorter and his hand twitching painfully from all the signing, that he got a surprise in the book he'd just flipped open.

_Coffee some time, Castle?_

He stared at the four words, recognising the familiar loopy scrawl on the page and he looked up at the owner of the slightly worn out book. Green met blue.

"Hey," Beckett said, almost shyly. "You … already know who to make this out to."

"Beckett," he cleared his throat and swallowed. Two other girls were behind her, peering at them curiously and he shook his head to look back at his former partner. "Uh, coffee?"

"I can meet you at that place we saw each other before when you're done?"

"Beckett, I don't need … anything from you. You know that, right? It's been two years, and I've just made peace with the fact that you want me out of your life, please – if this is just a gesture of gratitude, you really don't have to."

The look that crossed his face was devastating. Beckett wished she'd reached out to him sooner, wished that her pride hadn't gotten in the way of going to him for help – asking him to come back. It was clear that he'd been hurt by her actions and she felt her heart breaking all over again for him. She sucked in a deep breath and dove in.

"This isn't me _thanking_ you, Castle. Not directly … this is me asking you out to coffee. And maybe later, a movie then dinner. You can walk me back to my apartment, and I'll tell you that I had a great time. This is me asking you to forgive me for not calling. This is me, standing here, in front of you, asking you out on a date."

He'd gotten up from his seat sometime in the middle of her speech, and Beckett realised that there was now barely an inch separating the two of them. Both Paula and Gina stood off to the side, watching intently at the scene that was unfolding before them, taking note of the possible damage control that they'd have to deal with if anything happened. The rest of the fans were gawking at the exchange between their favourite author and this strange woman who'd just asked him out on a date.

And when he reached up to cup a palm along her jaw, when he bent down to touch her forehead with his, when his lips met hers, softly and oh, so gently – in one of the sweetest kisses she'd ever had, everything around them erupted into a frenzy of chaos and confusion.

But it wasn't like either of them noticed it anyway.

00000

_Hope this was enjoyable :) _


	5. Five Steps to Acceptance

_I apologise for the long wait for this chapter, it just refused to cooperate with me. The amount of feedback I've received so far is very appreciated and I hope that you enjoy this instalment as much as you've had the others. Thank you for reading :)_

**Five Steps to Acceptance**

I

It arrives in an unassuming package the fifth week she's holed up at her father's cabin. It's heavy and unmarked save for the hastily scribbled address on the front of the oversized envelope. She tears at the package, half certain of what it is and her suspicions are confirmed when the book slides easily out of the crude opening she's made. It's the first in the Nikki Heat series that she hasn't gotten the advanced readers' copy of and holding the book in her hand for the first time, without knowing what it contained – it excites her. It's an emotion she hasn't felt since she got shot and it's invigorating.

The smell of the new book is welcoming; the cracking of the spine as she opens it for the first time sends a rush of joy through her veins and she's reminded again of how much she adores books, adores the way the words on the page swirl in her mind's eye, painting the pictures and scenes – making them come to life. She's relieved that even after everything that has happened, her love for reading hasn't diminished. Settling into the corner of the couch, she begins to read.

Her dad comes home from doing the groceries two hours later and finds her in the same position, stretched out on the couch with her feet stretched out, her nose buried in the book and oblivious to the world. Smiling softly, he makes them sandwiches for lunch and sets a plate down on the coffee table in front of her, a scene that is reminiscent of her younger years when he'd do the same for her when she got too engrossed in a new book.

Dinner time comes and goes in the same fashion, a plate set out in front of her as she picks at her food, alternating between feeding herself and turning the pages of the book. Her father has the TV turned on as he watches a game but Beckett is so tangled up in Nikki's adventures (or misadventures, rather) that even the noises coming from the idiot box don't break her concentration.

And then at midnight, Jim hears a soft noise from his daughter. He turns to her and to his surprise finds tears pooled in her eyes with the back of her fist pressing hard against her mouth. She lets out a strangled sob, a small whimper, and in a flash he's beside her, tugging the book out of her hands and cradling her against his own solid frame.

"Rook's dying," she whispers into his shirt. "Castle's hurt. I hurt him … he wrote … I can't. I ca-can't, dad."

Her heart throbs in pain, and she is sure that it isn't just because of her wound. Her father rubs circles against her back, soothing her with words that mean nothing but _everything_ at the same time. The emotions are overwhelming. His confession of love, his overeager eyes as he brought her the flowers that one time he visited her at the hospital. The disappointment on his face when she told him to leave, the guilt of not calling him for so long, leaving him in the dark – it was too much.

Coupled with what she has just read, the line in the acknowledgements about songs making sense – it hurts, knowing that she has been the one to do this to him. Especially after everything he's done for her. He deserves to be loved wholly and irrevocably by someone who was worthy of his love. Not her – not when she was broken and damaged and so goddamned screwed up.

She hopes she'll be ready one day, hopes that there would be a time when she can be the person who he thinks she is. The book remains untouched for the rest of her time at the cabin, mocking her with his words so honest and true. Her father knows better than to push, so he's mildly surprised when she stops him from putting the book away. She tells him she needs it there to ground her and to remind her that she has something to go back to. A book, a man and a life that she desperately wants but yet remains unattainable.

It's her last week with her father that she decides she'll take small steps. She'll work towards trying to achieve that life as a goal – it was good to have a goal (her mother's voice echoes in her head). She snuggles deeper into her father's embrace before she departs, his familiar cologne calming her down a little. Small steps towards a goal, starting with going home.

II

"So, he's afraid of rats?"

Beckett grins into her glass and nods, taking a long sip of the milkshake in front of her. The cool liquid travels down her throat, providing her with her much needed dose of sugar for the day. "Among other things, yeah. You should have seen him, dad. He was practically squealing in pain when he had to pull that rat off me."

Her father's eyes twinkles in amusement. "He doesn't seem the type to be afraid of rodents."

"Dad, he believes in ghosts and vampires, demons … did I tell you about the time he thought he was cursed? Being afraid of rats is tame in comparison," Beckett laughed gently to herself, recalling Castle's less than stellar moments over the last few years. "And he screams like a girl."

"He's not really your type, is he?"

Beckett blinks in surprise, her father's question coming so far out from the left field that she almost chokes on the thick chocolate going down her throat. "Sorry, what?"

"Everyone else you've dated have been, how would you call 'em … tough as steel? Will – and that robbery guy, are cops like you, Josh was a country hopping heart surgeon, and you were always hanging around those biker boys when you were younger. Castle, on the other hand, is a writer who screams like a girl and believes in things that ten year olds believe in. Not your type at all, Katie."

Beckett shakes her head exasperatedly at her father's cheek. "First of all, I think it's refreshing for a guy to be so comfortable in his own skin that he doesn't worry about fitting in with the stereotypes of being manly. Secondly, dad, he doesn't have to be my type because we're _not dating_."

It's a mantra she's been repeating to herself since she's come back to work. It's not like she's shying away from the flirty banter, instead she finds herself instigating some of their more loaded, innuendo-filled conversations, but the fact remains that she is _not_ dating Richard Castle – as much as she thinks she'll enjoy it – and that she truly isn't ready for the slew of issues that will arise when they finally cross that road.

"You should be dating."

"Dad!"

Her father looks at her innocently from across the table, teasing her with his eyes and quirking his eyebrows when Beckett glares at him. They have had variations of this conversations numerous times, increasing in frequency since her father found out Josh was out of the picture. They have all ended the same way.

"He loves you, Katie."

Just like that.

Beckett shuts her eyes against the memory of his face hovering over hers, begging her to stay with him, telling her he loved her – the grass soft against her back, the liquid warmth of her blood seeping through her uniform …

"I know, dad."

Oh, but _this_ was new. She has never voiced it out loud before, and from the way her father's eyes suddenly widens, it looks like her confession has caught him unaware too. "You … know?"

"That he loves me? Between you, his book, Lanie and my boys constantly shoving that fact down my throat, I don't know how I would be able to miss it," she tries to brush it off casually. "But I'm still trying to work things out. Castle … he understands. At least I hope he does."

She has never told anyone about their talk on the swings that they'd had on her first day back and she isn't about to change that, but the way her father is peering at her is slowly chipping away at her guards. She knows he's only looking out for her best interests and suddenly she feels as if she owed him some sort of explanation.

"I … I care about him too, you know. All his feelings, dad? They aren't not reciprocated."

III

He says that he couldn't find his partner and for a moment it confuses her. It isn't until he's standing up and walking away that it strikes her – what he had been subtly hinting at. And he's right about losing her and not being able to find his partner. She readily admits that she's been pretty much MIA over the last few days, dealing with her baggage alone. She sits in her chair and slumps over her desk, exhausted and so emotionally drained that all she wants to do is curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep tonight.

Partners tell each other things; share their grievances, their troubles. But this time she'd kept hers all to herself, pushing him away on purpose. She's failed at being his partner when lately he's proven that he's perfect at being hers. He has every right to be upset with her, but he stands steadfastly behind her (figuratively), jokes with her and says things like 'always' and gives her space and …

God. She's being so selfish.

Castle has given her everything she asked for, and she gives him nothing in return. He's always there by her side and even when he physically isn't, his voice reverberates in her head, telling her that 'she's got this', supporting her the way partners are supposed to support each other. It kills her inside that the man was so willing to be with her despite all her cracks and damage and expecting nothing. It kills her inside that she wants to give him something in return but cannot find a way to do it. She's ready, she thinks. She's ready to stop killing herself and maybe she's ready to embrace the inevitable. She just doesn't know how to. She casts a forlorn look at his recently vacated chair and does the one thing she knows that may help.

She calls her therapist.

IV

"I'm not letting you leave. You came here to talk, Castle. Don't walk away now. Not until you hear me out."

Her voice is dangerously low, laced with the same kind of authority she usually directs at her suspects in interrogation. Castle remains indifferent to it but he does pause at her words, his foot crunching against the broken glass on the floor.

"And what? You want me to stay here, cowering for my life as you throw more glass at my head, which you've been doing for the last hour? No, sorry Beckett – I have a mother and a child to go home to today, and I'd like to do it in one piece."

"You were working her murder behind my back! I have _every_ right to be angry!"

Castle groans in frustration again, throwing both his hands in the air. "I know, okay? I _know_! We've already been through this, Beckett. You hate me for keeping it a secret. Hell, _I_ hate me for keeping it a secret. But what else do you want me to do now? Nothing can change. I'm happy to be the bastard who made you stop looking because I wanted you to stay alive. I won't let you get killed because of this!"

She sidesteps the broken vase that is partially rolling by her feet and slaps his hand away from the door knob.

"And do you think I want _you_ to get killed over this?" she hisses out, shoving him backwards away from her front door. He stumbles at the sheer force of her push, his back knocking into the side table by her door. The Buddha head on the table tips over precariously before falling over with a loud crash on the ground.

"Beck- "

"You're not _listening_ to me, Castle. Like you always never listen to me! You _just_ said you wanted to go back to your family in once piece. This _isn't_ about you keeping secrets, dammit!"

"The hell it isn't! Are you telling me you're not livid because I've been working your mother's case for almost –"

"_Shut up_! Just shut up and listen, for once, Rick!" Beckett yells. She catches his hands in hers, the first full skin to skin contact between the two since they started fighting almost two hours ago. Her expression softens and she lowers her voice.

"Just listen to me. Please," she pleads. "I can't lose you. Do you understand that, Rick? This isn't about you working this behind my back. This is about you potentially being their target too. You were working this case alone, with no back up – against the very people who shot me. They _shot_ me, Castle. You know how you felt watching me die? Do you think I won't feel exactly the same if they did that to you?"

He remains uncharacteristically mute. She feels his heartbeat pounding through his chest where her fingers rested, but he still refuses to speak. Whether it is because he's still stubbornly angry with her, or whether it's because he really has nothing to say, one thing she is sure of was that she's never thought that his silence could be quite this loud.

"Do you think I won't feel as if my entire life will come apart if you died?" She asks him, breaking the stony silence. Her eyes are blazing passionately and she knows she's on the verge of completely breaking down in front of him. She is so tired of the secrets, lies and cover ups. She just wants –

She pulls him close, tugging at his hands so that he crowds her against the front door, his thighs making contact with her own.

"I'm angry, I'm _so_ angry, Rick. But you're the only who can make this better. Please let's just talk about this. Don't walk away from me, Rick," she inhaled shakily and her head tilted up to meet his gaze. "I have nothing breakable to throw at you anymore. I promise."

Beckett feels the rumble in his chest as he chuckles softly. His breath washes over her, the space between them so small now that she can see the first hints of the stubble growing on his chin. "I won't say I'm sorry for trying to keep you alive, Kate. If I had to do it all again, I wouldn't change a thing if it means you get to live to see another day."

She doesn't like it, but she understands the sentiment. She even understands his need to walk away. She isn't going to deny that a small part of her _wants_ him to walk out, if only to give her a reason to be angrier with him. Another part knows that if she were in his position, she would have done the same thing. Going through all the pain just to be sure the other person was safe and happy – she understands that.

After all, that's what being in love is about isn't it?

V

She hears the waves crashing on the shoreline, hears the soft chatter among the people who were there that day, the seagulls squawking in the distance. His hand is warm in hers, always so warm – his eyes brilliantly blue, matching the sky. The world around her fades to nothing but him and his presence. His suit looks really good on him, and his smell is so intoxicating that if it weren't for the people around them, she would be doing very naughty things with him right now.

But she can't, so she'll have to make do with gazing patiently into the pair of eyes she's grown so accustomed to. Make do with smiling at him and basking in the love he's always so ready to bestow upon her. She's learned to accept and return the love, although the journey to the acceptance was not the easiest one by a long shot. Still … they got here eventually, didn't they?

She realises she's drifted away from the main event when he squeezes her hand and cocks his head inquiringly at her. She blinks and grins sheepishly at him. Oops. She makes Ryan repeat the line again, this time making sure she's fully aware of what's happening.

"Um. Do you, Katherine Beckett take this man, Richard Castle as your lawfully wedded husband, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?"

As she stares at the man before her, hands clasped tight between them and the look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face, only one word comes to mind. He's a fan of traditional, but she knows he likes it when she surprises him. One word. _Their_ word. She clears her throat and returns the gentle squeeze of his hand.

"Always."

00000

_There you have it guys, the chapter from hell is completed. If you're following me on tumblr, you'll know how much trouble this particular chapter has caused me. Many thanks to FallingTriumph and The 12__th__ Precinct for reading through this for me and catching all the crazy stuff that I missed the first time through. _

_Side note – turns out that a fic has just been published with a scene sort of similar to part V of this chapter. I swear that the similarities are purely coincidental (because come on, part V is so very clichéd after all) and that I have not in any copied or plagiarised anyone's work in any way. _

_Anyway, you readers want to play a game? Let me know (in a review or an ask or whatever) if you want a continuation or a companion piece to any one of the previous chapters, and I'll make it work :) Thanks again for reading!_


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